Serge and I were buddies. Our interests were largely similar. We were both interested in Oriental mysticism, travel literature, art, architecture, and ceramics. 

“The mystical part about making pots is whether you are in a good state when you make them, or anything else. Trying to achieve a good state by throwing pots as a therapeutic undertaking must be difficult. No, the state comes first and everything else follows,” I suggested.

“Sounds rather obvious,” Serge said.

“That’s the trouble, really. We expect our jobs, our hobbies and everything else we do, to give us peace. Of course, we must do our work with our minds, but the mind had better be in abeyance or you have no chance of creating anything worthwhile.”

“But artistic aspirations…?”

“I like basic aesthetics. Slender pots appeal to me more than fat ones. A fairly minimalist approach is evident. A traditional Japanese house delights me. I too, of course, wish to be empty.”

“How about architecture?” he asked.

“It is about form, which by necessity is governed by function. I greatly admire architects and I can feel their dilemma when attempting to combine form and function. The great architects give us spaces that are comfortable for our interior worlds. “

“But empty…?” Serge prodded.

“I suppose I mean the ability, the luck or grace to receive vision. I am convinced that any artistic endeavor begins with an inner vision. A quiet mind is almost a prerequisite. Then comes the work of getting stuff made, which I contend is the job of the mind. I once read that Mozart claimed to have seen music floating before him; he then had the task of getting it all down as sheet music.”

“So you equate throwing pots with a mechanical process,” Serge said.

I explained: “One obviously must learn the mechanics. I spent a year at art school learning how to throw in series. I was fanatical and everyone said I was crazy because I never fired anything. I once worked on a Greek island and was made aware of Greek potters who have little or no artistic ambition. They see working with clay in the same way that a mechanic works on a car. I heard about one potter in Athens whose wheel head never stops turning. Balls of clay are usually weighed to make certain pots and one then places the ball on a stationary wheel head, gets the thing turning, throws the pot, stops the wheel and cuts off the pot to be placed on a board. The man in Athens simply grabs a chunk of clay of about the right weight, whacks it on to a running wheel head, centers and throws the pot and cuts it off and removes it while the wheel head is in motion. He does that all day long, hour after hour.”

“Wasn’t it the Bauhaus people who spoke about a machine for living?”

“Sure,” I said. “But for them function was an aim. The rest was a philosophy of de-cluttering. Décor art also has a function, I hope, because it can get people forgetting themselves, if only momentarily, which I believe is the best way to experience pleasure.”

“What do you mean by forgetting yourself to experience pleasure?”

“It is quite clear – and many doctors and psychologists agree – that the activity of the mind can be repressive. Mental activity is seldom conducive to healing if taken to an extreme. A patient’s first thoughts are naturally the stuff of concern and the need to seek help! If the patient can surrender his or her condition completely to the expertise of the doctor, the doctor’s task is simplified because the patient’s mind does not meddle with the doctor’s work. More important, the mind is placed in abeyance and permits, or releases, the flow of a natural healing process.”

Serge was confused. “But how does creativity come into it?” he asked.

“One could say that any flow of natural energy, meaning not mind-induced, could be pleasurable. But it is not simply a question of absolute faith in a doctor because the mind in this very complex world has often formed what in German is known as an Eigendynamic, a life of its own, which means that the mind could take control of a person’s life and becomes a personal, overriding function. That which should be a person’s servant has then reversed the roles.

“Most people find a feeling of equanimity in a state of passive focus. I once attended a concert featuring Ella Fitzgerald and a jazz trio. The lady was in such fine form that within a few minutes she had captured the attention, the hearts, and the minds, of the entire audience, thus giving them a release from self. The feeling of euphoria was utterly palpable. Any great artist can give this grace to people. To look at a Rembrandt, at least for the first time, can be stunning – meaning, the mind is stunned. Bach, Beethoven, Mozart, and many more, were capable of offering such grace. I would suggest that truly great artists are themselves in a state of mind abeyance, as mentioned above, when creating their pictures, sculpture, music, literature, and architecture. Great artists ‘receive’ rather than ‘conceive’ their works.

“We are encouraged to be selfless, to simply let go of the thoughts that constantly bug us and turn to what we instinctively know to be true. True art, design, architecture, and hopefully ceramics, can therefore not only be pleasing but also beneficial.”

“Is humankind sick?” he asked.

“Not at all but there does appear to be a widespread feeling of dissatisfaction as we travel down our days. We have little repose. You might say we don’t give ourselves a chance to be truly happy. Was it Krishnamurti who said that there is only one thing between you and God: you. Get out of the way.”

“So you think a mystical approach would be useful?”

“I really do believe that, but, naturally, one would need the time to get quiet. Having a family, a job, earning a living and all the rest is hardly conducive to achieving equanimity from the outset. I can now make ceramics at my leisure but I admire those creative people who are able to achieve great work within the hustle of daily life, especially the young ones.”

“Looking at the pictures, there seems to be an ‘Asian’ approach to your ceramics.”

I said: “The master-potter, Bernard Leach went to Asia to learn about ceramics. He returned to England in 1920 and brought the Japanese master, Shoji Hamada, with him. Hamada and Leach showed us the possibility of selfless pottery making. They constructed and fired a wood-burning kiln, which, opposed to the radiant heat of an electric kiln, brings out the inherent qualities of the clay beneath a glaze. This is achieved by reducing the air intake at a critical point during firing because, obviously, a naked flame requires oxygen to keep burning. Thus the flame starved of oxygen seeks oxygen in the glazes and the clay. The result is buttery textures and some marvelous hues. I have a potter friend, however, who studied with Leach and he said it took years to escape from his influence.”

“But what of selfless pottery?”

“Again, it is the state of having one’s mind in abeyance. Leach maintained that if six potters were to each make a simple tea bowl and one of the potters was in a quiet state the result would be noticeable. In fact, he said that eight out of ten observers would instinctively choose that one bowl.”

“This would seem to imply meditation,” Serge said.

“I have nothing against meditation, but I never did it.”

“So what is your approach?”

“I do nothing really special: just get quiet, relax, begin, and watch what happens. I’m sure many others are happy with the way they operate.”

“Is there a learning process, in all this?”

I told him, “It’s like learning to drive a car, which is initially undertaken as a mental process. Beginners tend to be nervous. Gear changes get snarled, the rear-view mirror is largely forgotten, and so on. The mechanical learning process gradually becomes internalized and a natural flow takes over. Gear changes and all of the other skills become automatic. When this has occurred the mind is set free to concentrate, although focus would be a better word, on what is coming at you on the road.”

“So how did you learn?”

“It may sound far-fetched but one might say that the hands learned what to do. There is a marvelous video on YouTube showing the jazz guitarist Stanley Jordan playing a number (Jumpin’ Jack). Jordan has the ability to play melody and bass simultaneously, somewhat in the way a pianist plays. Deep into his solo one sees Jordan looking down at his hands and there is a smile on his face that seems to say ‘…hey, you guys are really having a good time.’”

“Oh come on, jazz and a quiet mind?”

“Jazz means improvisation engendered by freedom. The freedom from self, conflict, and anything else that hinders creativity.”

“Of course it would be impertinent to speak for other artists but I love the idea of what the Japanese call Shibui. It is a feeling engendered by quiet reticence, something that gives pleasure for reasons beyond explanation. I suppose it means a special rightness about something. Since I am not a Mozart, I do not expect to stun or startle with my work. I am satisfied if a bit of Shibui arises through a combination of shapes and glazes.”

“Talking about shapes…” Serge said.

“As I said before I prefer slender pots; pots that narrow down to a small foot. This gives the pot an appearance of floating – is soaring too presumptuous? My bowls usually have a turned foot. It gives them a lightness that I find pleasing.”

“Have you not been copying the painter Giorgio Morandi with his still-life renderings of ceramic vessels, especially the fluted bottles or those with cut sides?”

“I had never heard of the man before you mentioned him,” I told my friend. “But Morandi does appeal. Thanks for introducing me to his work.”

“The glazes are obviously an enhancement!”

“True but there is a lot of science involved. I fire with an electric kiln because it was given to me as a gift. We are too strapped for cash to buy a preferred gas or wood-burning kiln. My glazes have therefore been things to overcome rather than just use.”

“Build your own kiln!”

“I would love to but for the time being I am where I am at. The electric kiln I use is not particularly large, 60x75x50 centimeters inside, and it does have its eccentricities. All potters have this problem and have adjusted their glaze recipes and firing cycles accordingly. After several test firings, I have been lucky to achieve a good off-white, a really luscious chocolate black, a rather startling blue, a gorgeous dark green thinning to brown on the edges. I also have a nice pale green, which is supposed to be a celadon, but never really came out that way. I am still looking for a classic Chinese tenmoku glaze that fires at 1250°. It is a wonderful black breaking to brown on thin edges.”

“Your glaze application sometimes seems somewhat free-form,” Serge said. “What is behind that?”

“Well, if you have ever tried to draw an arc or a circle you will see the distinct wobble of the line because of an unsure hand. Just swish the pencil around on the paper and the result is likely to be much more graceful. You may not achieve a perfect circle but the result will be more pleasing to the eye. Lord knows how Giotto did a perfect circle in the thirteenth century. Splash glazing is a sort of just do it endeavor. There is no foresight involved, I dribble a glaze on to a pot and…”

“Watch what happens?”

“Right,” I said. “It is again the idea of not really putting one’s mind into a thing. Otherwise I dip my pots into a bucket of glaze in the usual way. Of course, large vessels must have a glaze poured over them, but it is still uncontrolled.”

“Clay?”

“The stoneware clay I use has been great help in achieving texture, although it is not very easy to throw. I mix two clays, with and without grog. The clay is speckled with pyrite and it looks good on the unglazed parts of a pot. The pyrite also shows through the glazes, especially in the off-white.”

“There seems to be lifestyle aspect in what you do.”

“I got around to it a bit late but consider myself lucky. We have a nice old house and a small pottery room. The garden is up and running. My marriage seems to be good, although I am definitely not going to ask her opinion about that. How you live, where you live, and what you do are largely a matter of circumstance for most people. An organized human environment is rather required.”

“Do you remember us talking about Francesco Patrizi, the author of many works of philosophy and the arts?”

“That’s right. He was looking for perfection of a sort,” I said.

“Patrizi wrote a book tantalizingly called The Happy Town. The work is Utopian and an attempt to counter Thomas More’s notion of separating church and state. Patrizi proposed the integration of both. He was born into the nobility in Croatia in 1529 and had the time and inclination to consider the improvement of the world around him. La città felice was written in 1551 in Padua and was printed in Venice in 1553, when Patrizi was only 22 years old. His book proposes a topographical situation that is obviously seen as the Croatian town of Cres in its deep, protective bay, and is about achieving an ideal state. We are confronted with a man who wished to create order, but it was order-imposed. His architectural notions encompassed ‘…straight streets to enhance winds in the hot season’ and ‘…streets meandering like a river to divert winds in the winter months.’ There were to be squares and institutional buildings for commerce, but his main thrust was the stuff of social order. Fabrizi proposed two social groups, the nobility, composed of soldiers and the priesthood, and workers and peasants forming a second group. This second group in The Happy Town were not actually meant to be happy but were only to serve and ‘…not to attain a state of bliss.’”

“Ho hum for Fabrizi. Thomas More was really a humanist, someone who cared.”

“Exactly!” Serge said. “Patrizi was an architect who wished to tell people what is good for them. One debatable point about art could be about what it does to people. Should art bring people to quiet reflection – bliss would be an exaggeration in my case – or should it provoke? Personally, getting people all riled up doesn’t make sense to me.”

“So what is the message?”

“Not offending anyone’s sensibilities, which means offering stuff that calms rather than antagonizes.”

“Your method…?”

“Get quiet, relax, begin.”   

“And watch what happens?”

“That’s about it.”

We live in a magnificent world inhabited by approximately 8,700,000 species. This number includes only general species, not subspecies. Scientists discover around 2,500 new species every year, and the number is soon estimated to reach 10 million.

All living organisms are blessed with unique bodies, systems, and organs, defense and protection mechanisms to survive and protect themselves, and special features to help them forage for food.

When people get ill due to environmental effects or malnutrition they usually consult a doctor. They try to find a cure by using the medicine prescribed by doctors. However, animals living in the wild don’t have this option. When animals living in nature or on the street get ill what can they do if nobody takes them to a vet? How do millions of species get well and find cures for their ailments?

You might think that animals who become sick in the wild must simply live with their symptoms, but this is not the case. In fact, we have given a clue at the introduction: each organism is equipped with features to lead a self-sustaining life. Either their bodily functions perfectly enable them to live in their habitat or their unique metabolisms protect them from harmful external factors. Animals also can use some plants whose health benefits have only recently been discovered by humans.

In recent decades, there has been a growing interest for herbal products such as walnut leaf, cherry stalk tangerine rind, grenadine red, and celery root to find cure for diseases.

Animals perform amazing tasks with mind-blowing adroitness as if each were an expert chemist. Wondrous mechanisms are activated when a need arises to protect animals from harm.

Some plants with healing properties:

Lupine, quassia, bitter wood, hemlock, fishberry, roselle, henbane, giant fennel root, pistachio, resin, pine turpentine, mistletoe, cumin, hibiscus, hibiscus flower, alkanet, flos elaeagni, camphor, cardamom, St John’s wort, French lavender, Flaxseed, linseed oil, henna tree, quillaia, wall germander, cranberry, aspand, daffodil, water lily, common balm and eucalyptus.

Animals have been consuming and finding cures in these plants since the dawn of time. They are also equipped with many surviving capabilities under extremely severe conditions. Here are a few examples:

Antibiotics expert

With a height of up to five meters, the giraffe is the tallest land animal. Scientists who investigated the scent emitted by the giraffe found 11 separate chemical substances in its fur. The chemicals turned out to have antibiotic properties, having an increased efficiency when combined. Only after a series of experiments can these incredibly complex chemicals be extracted in the laboratory. The giraffe has been using these chemicals to prevent fungi and bacteria, repel ticks, and stop the growth of germs. Where did these tall creatures study chemistry to know how to produce antibiotics such as indole?

The stubborn doctor

The bezoar ibex is a type of mountain goat native to Turkey, Iran, Turkmenistan and Pakistan. It has a motley coat of black, brown, grey, reddish-gold, and white. Both the male and female have horns and a goatee. The name means “cure” in Persian, and the locals must have noticed its habit of eating spurge whenever bitten by a snake. Scientists have identified the substance called euphorbone in the spurge plant. Amazingly, an analysis of this substance reveals that certain chemical reactions triggered by euphorbone neutralize the effects of venom. The poisoned creature looks for splurge from among the vegetation, self-medicates, and treats itself free of charge. It sure is no wonder when one realizes that the goat, the snake, and the plant are all created by the same hand.

The master of diving

Divers who ascend too quickly to the surface run the high risk of experiencing the bends, an intense pain that is likely to kill because of the gasses coming out of the bloodstream. But how do billions of creatures that lack oxygen tubes lead their entire lives in the sea without experiencing the bends?

Dolphins and whales, for example, descend to depths humans can’t reach on their own and then rise like it is no big deal. Human lungs cannot endure the pressure under such depths, but the bronchi and air sacs in the lungs of dolphins, however, are placed inside a protective cover of special cartilage. To avoid suffering the bends, dolphins release all the air in their lungs before diving deep. But how then do they breathe? The answer is hidden in their muscles, or rather in the myoglobin protein that is available in much higher amounts than in humans. These proteins have the ability to hold in high amounts of oxygen molecules. The much needed oxygen is provided from this source, enabling dolphins and whales to dive as deep as possible.

Poison for one, food for another

The macaw is an inhabitant of American tropical regions with an average wing span of 80 cm. It is known to be a tough creature that lives as long as 60 years. The macaw feeds on plants that produce a chemical called strychnine (C₂₁H₂₂N₂O₂), a powerful poison intended to ward off enemies. How can a substance that kills some living things nourish others? Immediately after eating the nutritious but poisonous seeds, the macaw flies to the rocky cliffs in a certain area. When they get there, they gnaw at and swallow some clay-based rock pieces. The fact that the bird ingests clay without any apparent reason is quite an interesting behavior. The reason was revealed only after research into the origins of the behavior. It turns out that the rocks that have clay in them include a substance called kaolinite (Al₂O₃.2SiO₂.2H₂O) that can absorb the poison in the seeds. The macaw can digest the normally poisonous seeds thanks to this absorption and live on with its life safely. There is no way the macaw can know about the substances present in the clay, so how does it know to eat the clay that can eliminate toxins?

The antifreeze expert

The arctic beetle survives against the inhospitable cold of the arctic thanks to a type of alcohol produced in its body that works as antifreeze. The glycerol (C₃H₈O₃), also called glycerin, produced by the insect prevents the blood and other fluid molecules from freezing and thus ice crystals from killing the cells and destroying cellular bonds. Furthermore, the shorter the days and the colder the weather, the more resistant the bodily mechanisms of the arctic beetle become. As the temperature drops, the volume of water in their body is reduced and antifreeze substances such as glycerol and sorbitol are produced in greater amounts. Research on this amazing creature has revealed that it can survive in temperatures as low as -87 degrees Celsius due to glycerol. It is beyond reason to expect an insect to know how to produce an organic compound with the complex formula of C₃H₈O₃ and thus protect itself from extreme cold.

The radiation expert

Scientists analyzed a surviving scorpion after an atomic bomb test, yet they couldn’t find a satisfying answer to how this animal survived the radiation shower that exterminated all other living organisms. Note that scorpions which came into existence millions of years ago are basically living fossils. Thanks to the protective system they are blessed with, in the past they have survived more powerful solar explosions and harmful radiation from outer space and the sun, and handed down these features to future generations.

The creature that never feels cold

The tardigrade, or water bear, is one of the most resistant organisms in nature.

The size of a pinhead, these microorganisms have pin-shaped hoses in their mouth.  These microorganisms have a brain, a pair of eyes, and a digestion system, but they do not have a heart or lungs.  600 different subspecies of the animal have been discovered so far. They feed mostly on moss and lichens and can survive in any environment including space.

They have been observed to survive a temperature of 120 ⁰C and a pressure of 1000 atm. In dry environments they contract, causing the water in their tissues to evaporate. During this process, the oxygen consumption of the tardigrade virtually stops. The wind carries the dried tardigrades to other places and when they find a suitable environment (wet moss or humid places) they can come back to life again.

According to Ingemar Jönsson from Kristianstadt University in Sweden who participated in studies on this organism, it is a mystery how these animals survive even when they are subjected to conditions in outer space.

Animals perform amazing tasks with mind-blowing adroitness as if each were an expert chemist. Wondrous mechanisms are activated when a need arises to protect animals from harm. It is wondrous to see how animals can carry out these complex chemical procedures as if they have been instructed at birth.